


Special Collections and Artifact Theft

by kototyph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I'm Always Convinced that I'll Round a Corner and See Those Two Girls from The Shining, Maps are Sexy, The Stacks are Creepy, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Sam likes maps, and Dean Winchester is a better brother than first appearances might suggest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Collections and Artifact Theft

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt:
> 
> [pamplemoose](http://pamplemoose.tumblr.com/post/32835773730/impalastiel-au-in-which-sam-has-always-wanted):
>
>> [impalastiel](http://impalastiel.tumblr.com/post/32835577600/au-in-which-sam-has-always-wanted-to-be-a):
>>
>>> AU in which Sam has always wanted to be a geography teacher.
>>> 
>>> Someone write this for me please?
>> 
>> Sam gets boners for history and Pangaea.

There's a woman behind the counter, older and a little frumpy, one of those floaty silky scarves that are going out of fashion knotted at her neck. She's zoning out, tired, nails chipped and her coral lipstick all chewed off, but her eyes light on Dean and she straightens immediately, hand going to her hair.  
  
"Hey there," Dean says with a smile. He slides the stacks pass he'd just stolen from some dude's backpack across the ancient yellow oak with a finger. "Two for Bookland, please."  
  
"Oh, absolutely!" she says quickly, all but snatching the card from him. "Ah, two?"   
  
Dean gives her a wide-eyed look Sam snarkily calls the Bambi, and asks, "'S okay if my brother comes too, right?"  
  
Behind Dean, Sam is glaring around at all the sad college losers with the kind of sullen, aggressive boredom only newly-minted teenagers are capable of. Dean's told him they're here for more research, and the huge, put-upon sighs haven't let up since they left the hotel.

"I guess that's okay," the woman says, smiling at Sam. "Do you need any help? Finding anything, I mean?"  
  
"Naw, thanks," Dean says, pulling a wadded-up McDonald's receipt from his pocket. "Got the serial numbers right here."   
  
"They're called call numbers," Sam huffs. "Don't you know anything?"  
  
Seriously, this kid does not deserve a brother as awesome as Dean. Dean takes the card back (no telling when they'll need something like it again) and pulls away from the counter with one last smile for the woman. He ruffles Sam's hair as he walks towards the security gates, laughing when Sam bats his hand away. "No one asked you, dingus. C'mon, we got work to do."  
  
There's a bunch of directories on the wall and Dean grabs one as they pass; what he's looking for is being stored on level ten, western annex; a glance at the wall shows they're on level five, eastern annex. Looks like they've got a walk ahead of them.  
  
The stacks are like caves, aisles dark and air still and stale like an underground bunker. There's something eerie about the way all outside noise seems to vanish, how the number of people they see dwindles until they could be the only two survivors of the apocalypse.   
  
Dean leads Sam around hip-high stalagmites of dusty old books, carts that have been abandoned in the middle of rows and rows and _rows_ of neatly-labeled spines and covers. Dean glances back and Sam is staring around with avid interest, but when he catches Dean looking he immediately scowls and looks at his feet.  
  
Finally, after what feels like a couple miles of  creepy stairs and badly-lit cinderblock hallways, they come to a door with 'SPECIAL COLLECTIONS STORAGE' stenciled in worn gold leaf on the wood.  
  
"What does Dad even want down here?" Sam asks, automatically shifting to scan the corridor as Dean pulls out a pin to pick the lock.  
  
"Dad's working on something else," Dean answers. He crouches down to get a better angle as he works at the tumblers. "This is all on us, Sammy-boy."  
  
"Don't _call_  me that," Sam whines, and Dean snips out, "Quitcher bitchin'," just as the the lock gives a solid _snick_ and the knob turns under his hand.  
  
The door swings inward, and the room beyond is windowless and completely dark. It takes Dean a couple seconds of feeling around the wall to find the switch, and the view doesn't get much better with the lights on-- there's nothing there but carrels and long squat cabinets, drawers a couples inches high and several feet wide.  
  
"You go ahead," Dean drawls, sauntering over to sit at one of the carrel desks. He flops down and pulls a magazine and a packet of DingDongs out of his pocket. "I'm gonna sit for awhile. That was hard work."  
  
The glare Sam gives him is absolutely scathing, and Dean props up the magazine to hide his smile as his brother mutters "Jerk," and shuffles forward towards the first dull beige cabinet, pulling open a random drawer with a wrenching squeal of metal.  
  
Sam says, "What--?" and then there's a moment of utter silence. Dean's biting his lip in anticipation, fighting back a grin.  
  
"Dean?" Sam's voice sounds weird, high and uncertain.   
  
"Yeah, Sammy?"  
  
"Are-- are these all _maps_?"  
  
"Dunno," Dean says, fake disinterest coloring his tone. "Guess you'll have to check."  
  
"Oh my God," Sam says. Then, "Oh my _God_ ," and he's ripping open drawers everywhere and Dean is settling back and not even pretending to be ogling his busty asian beauties, because there's something about the way the teenage sulkiness just disappears, Sam's eyes getting bigger and rounder and his voice going higher and more incredulous with every new discovery.  
  
"I think this is the Matteo Ricci map," Sam gasps, after pulling open another drawer. "The actual-- this is like the rarest map in the entire world, oh my God--"

"Yeah, you said that," Dean says with an eye roll, and Sam whirls on him.  
  
"How did you know this was here?" he demands, cradling a stack of browning parchment in his arms.  
  
"They had a thing in the newspaper," Dean says with a careless shrug, and pointedly flips a page. And oh, helloooo nurse.

"And you just-- you-- you lied!"

Dean raises an eyebrow at him over the top of the porno mag. "Really? That's what you're hung up on?"

Sam gawks at him. "You let me think-- UGH, whatever! Jerk!"

The warm glow of accomplishment is bright and heady in his chest, and to counter it Dean smirks and makes a dismissive shooing motion. "Go play with the maps, bitch. You can thank me later."

* * *

Sam doesn't thank him, but he does spend the next five hours totally engrossed in the collection.  
  
When the library closes, Dean tries to smuggle out the Ricci map under his coat. Sam catches him and makes him put it back, which is fine; it's only cover for the other map, hidden in his inner pocket. That one, Sam doesn't find until he opens his Christmas present a few months later, and the look he gives Dean then is a strange mixture of little-brother-brand exasperation and total hero worship.

Dad gives him a smack upside the head, but it's so worth it.


End file.
